


Tied

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-21
Updated: 2006-07-21
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:10:03
Rating: Teen & Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8670592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: As people say, old habits die hard.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Tied  
Summary:** As people say, old habits die hard.  
**Fandom:** Supernatural  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Characters:** Sam and Dean  
**Warning:** Pre-Wincest  
**Author’s Notes:** The Slashy answer to the question on everyone’s mind: What is with Dean’s necklace? Is there an answer anyway? **Also!** This is dedicated to [ ](http://mf-luder-xf.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://mf-luder-xf.livejournal.com/)**mf_luder_xf** who is in a sad mood and I felt bad, so I finished it and dedicating it to her!  
 

 

"Dean, I’m scared."

An eight year old Sam Winchester stood at his brother’s door, looking at his bare feet. He heaved out a deep breath and pulled out the puppy dog eyes.

Dean rolled his eyes, tearing off his shirt and throwing it to the ground. "What do you want me to do about it?"

Sam dug in his pockets, his fingers trembling. He pulled out a long piece of frayed black string and held it up so Dean could see. It wasn’t just a plain black string; to Sam, though, it was the string that kept him and Dean together at night. It started out when Sam was just little, afraid of the things in his closet, so Dean took a random string and tied his wrist to Sam’s. It comforted the young boy and he would soon fall asleep every night without fears or night terrors, knowing that Dean wouldn’t leave him.

It went on like that for awhile until Dean started getting annoyed and wanted to sleep in his own bed for once. One night, Dean flat out refused to tie the string to their wrists and told Sam to sleep by himself. Sam had sulked away, the string trailing behind him sadly as he walked into his room silently.

Sam had woken up screaming in the middle of the night, but Dean didn’t run to his side, no matter how much it hurt him to hear the agonized screams. Dean knew Sam had to learn; but somewhere in the recesses of his mind he knew Sam wouldn’t.

Dean sighed, clearly irritated. " _Again_ Sammy? I thought you’d grown out this!" It had been a long time since that last refusal and Dean thought Sam was doing okay. Too bad he didn’t know that Sam rarely slept, his wide eyes set on his closet door with a bat in hand.

Sam looked to his feet again. "I thought I heard something in my closet." He felt ashamed and slightly stupid, standing in his older brothers room, holding the old worn string. It was just another desperate cry for help, because John never had time to comfort Sam in his fears. Just time to give him a gun and say _‘Cock it and pull it son’_.

"Okay, fine. But this is the absolute _last_ time. You have to learn to sleep on your own." Dean knew it was a hopeless cause - Sam would never be able to have a restful night sleep until he got over his fear and his fear wasn’t going to go away because Dean knew it could be partially true. He was very aware of things that go bump in the night because his father wouldn’t let him forget it.

Dean led the almost too giddy Sam back to the tiny room. Dean caught the familiar scent of warmth and the perfumed blankets that had once belonged to his mother. It was sometimes the only reason Dean went to Sam’s room anymore. Just to be reminded of what he could’ve had... just one last time.

Dean set the small boy down on the bed, sighing deeply in frustration and irritation. He wanted Sam to know that he was very much against it, but he would do it. Just for him. 

Dean took the string from Sam’s fingers and tied it once around his wrist, once around Sam’s and finally tied it all together. Sam grinned wryly, staring down at the tied wrists, feeling a sense of rushing security. 

"And don’t fidget so much this time," Dean reprimanded as he pushed Sam into the small twin-sized bed, settling him near the wall. "You just about tore my arm off."

"Sorry Dean."

Dean ruffled Sam’s chestnut brown mop. "Yeah, just go to bed."

A few minutes of restless silence passed before Sam turned over to face his brother (and relieve his aching arm) and tugged on his sleeve. "Hey Dean?"

"Huh?" Dean muttered groggily.

Sam paused for a moment, biting his lip. "Do you... do you ever think about mom?"

"All the time, now go to bed," Dean ordered, rubbing his nose. He always faced this problem - Sam wanted to know all about Mom. Dean didn’t have much of a problem with Sam being curious... it was only natural, but Dean couldn’t provide much solace for the young boy since Dean barely remembered her himself. And that agonized him enough already.

"What was she like?" Sam asked dreamily.

"Not _now_. I’m tired," Dean growled.

"Please."

Dean sighed. "Another time."

Sam smiled in the darkness. "Promise?"

Dean had the urge to reach around and smack his kid brother in the head, but he resisted. "Yes! Now shut your hole!"

"Night Dean." Sam chuckled.

"Yeah, whatever," Dean grumbled, punching the pillow with his free hand.

\- - - 

After that night, I always went back to Sam’s room. But the funny thing is, he never knew. 

I could hear him at night. He was afraid of his room, afraid of his dreams, afraid of his life. I’m his older brother and no matter what, I have to protect him. Comfort his fears, but somehow, I couldn’t. Not to his face.

As the years wore on, Sam forgot about the loving aspect of our relationship and only brought on the bitterness. The nights we spent talking meant nothing to Sam as he began to look at the world with different eyes and he saw that we - Dad and I - were no longer part of that world. We stood in the way of his perfect life, perfect job, perfect _everything_.

Being the older brother, I knew this wasn’t going to happen for him. I wanted to protect him from his own made up truths cause I knew the truth of his fabricated dreams, but he wouldn’t let me in. So, the other part of my older brother characteristic dropped the whole It Won’t Work Out The Way You Planned charade and let him go. It’s only what a good brother would do, right?

So, every night, I would go to Sam’s room and watch him sleep, with that damn piece of string in my hand. It helped me to remember the old times, when Sam wanted me to save him from the monsters in the closet. Yeah, I was sometimes inconsiderate and an all around jerk, but I loved having him look up to me.

But no matter how many monsters there are in Sammy’s closet anymore, he doesn’t need me. And that makes me feel like a worthless, failure of a brother. Sometimes I wonder if it’s more then the feeling of being a failure, or more the desire to be needed by someone I care for.

Sometimes I hope there’s more to our relationship then what’s right in front us. But I usually have false hopes anyway.

\- - - 

Sam woke up screaming. It wasn’t unusual or surprising - it happened frequently nowadays, especially with his premonitions and visions running full time.

Still, Dean was a bit frightened and shocked at the look on Sam’s face. His skin, now pale, was coated with a film of sweat and his face was contorted with fear and anxiety. His breath came out heavy and fast, as though he had just ran miles and miles. 

"Sam?" Dean asked from his jumble of blankets and pillows. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I’m fine," Sam answered weakly, his breathing slowing. His face scrunched up in a sudden burst of pain and he let out a stifled cry, clutching his head.

Dean, upon instinct, leaped off his bed and took Sam’s wrist in his hand. He jumped slightly at the mixture of warmth and cold on Sam’s skin and coughed to cover up his fumble. "Here," Dean mumbled and began checking Sam’s pulse hastily.

Sam watched his brother wearily, knowing that it was just habit that led him to all this little mother hen type things. "What are you doing?" Sam knew what he was doing, but he wanted to watch Dean squirm.

"Checking your pulse," Dean answered plainly, giving Sam a _Shut Up While I’m Working_ glare.

"Dude, I’m not dead," Sam said, laughing, and wrestled his wrist out of Dean’s grasp. "I _am_ speaking to you."

For a moment, Dean stared hopelessly at the wrist - his childhood and mixed feelings were too much to take and he looked away. His sudden urge to hold Sam was unsettling and overwhelming."Yeah, I know. Just don’t want you having a heart attack... or something." He trailed off lamely, crawling back to his bed.

"What?" Sam asked, a grin playing wildly on his face. He wiped the sheen off his forehead with his blanket cover, while giving Dean a once-over. Sometimes he worried for his brother’s sanity.

"What _what_?" Dean retorted, punching his pillow angrily, trying to keep his mind off what he had just done. Or what he should’ve done, or didn’t do, or could’ve - Dean sighed. 

Sam laughed, getting him a stiff look from Dean. "Dean, _what’s_ bugging you?"

"That you won’t shut up and go to bed." Dean looked back at his shaking hands and curled them into fists to hide his anger and cowardliness. 

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean..."

"I need my beauty sleep! Looking this good doesn’t come easy and it’s damn hard to hunt a demon when your reflexes are ten times slower too," Dean said in one large breath. "Just shut up and go to bed. You’re fine, I’m fine, now we can live on happily."

Not quit sure, Sam watched his brother for a few more minutes as he turned and grumbled in his bed, clearly ignoring Sam altogether. Sighing, Sam settled back into his bed, distinctly reminded of when they were young. "Okay then."

\- - - 

Dean waited a few minutes, listening to Sam’s labored breathing, before he gently rolled off his single bed and crawled along the horrible shag carpet to the side of Sam’s bed. The youngest Winchester was snoring softly, his mouth opening to reveal a lolling pink tongue. Dean fought the urge to laugh as he settled himself on the floor.

The shag itched horribly through Dean’s boxers and it wasn’t much better that the rest of him was bare and naked to the world. Dean scratched profusely before letting out an exasperated sigh and forgetting it all together. That was when Sam’s hand came flying across the bed and smacked Dean around the head.

Falling back, Dean missed the hardest part of the blow, but still growled at the unconscious Sam. Of course he didn’t know what he had done, it was just a spasm of his sleeping body and but it was most definitely ruining Dean’s masterful attempt at being discreet and emotional.

__

Why am I even trying? This isn’t me.

__

Ignoring the fidgeting Sam, Dean slowly untied the necklace from his neck. He held the pendant in his fingers, letting the warmth soak into his cool hands, before sliding it off the string and watching it bounce harmlessly to the floor.

The string, now wound around Dean’s fingers, was old and faded. A bit frayed on the ends and middle, but it had had much use in it’s time. In it’s first life, it started out as a simple shoe lace. The ends broke one summer day and it was taken from it’s position and appointed as the bond between two brothers. Now, it served it’s resting senior years as the only connection a lonely brother had left with his distant brother; his mentor, his best friend, just... _his_.

Dean could always be a little bias and irrational and that was why he completely overreacted when Sam left, when Sam didn’t write, when Sam didn’t do anything to keep in contact with him. Dean felt he had worked so hard to keep this bond strong, the one frayed at the ends, and Sam just didn’t care.

Ironic, isn’t it, that a failing love could be held together by such a wasted out string when they were young? Dean hoped it would work now... but people grow old, they changed. Dean just hoped it hadn’t come to that so quickly.

The string in hand, the one Dean had fretfully held onto, was the only connection between the two brothers. The key to a familiar, but locked door. The answer to the beginning and end. The bond between two brothers who’s love was deeper then any other.

Dean noticed that the once swinging fist now had become limp, hanging over the edge of the bed in a mixture of itchy wool blankets and cotton sheets. Dean hesitated for a moment before taking Sam’s fingers into his, a rush of familiarity overcoming him as he intertwined his rough hands into Sam’s soft ones.

The warmth shocked Dean - it was all too real. Sam twitched nervously, a shock of pain and worry flashing across his features before disappearing. Dean’s fingers instantly tightened into Sam’s hold upon impulse and instinct. The sleeping boy never noticed.

A rush of heat overcame Dean, his eyes fluttering shut. He felt light and invincible; a mortal Superman for one fleeting moment. Sam’s prolonged touch - the one Dean had tried so hard to avoid because he knew it would lead to this - could send Dean over the edge... he had wanted it so long now.

"Dean?" Sam was stirring and Dean froze, his eyes snapping open to see Sam wiping his eyes wearily.

Dean remained motionless, his fingers intertwined and the shocking realization setting in. He shouldn’t want his brother like this; it was wrong, he knew. Everyone knew. But how could something so wrong feel so right? _Lust, one of the deadly sins._ But what should that matter? Dean didn’t believe in God anyway, so he was going to hell anyway. _Right?_

Dean caught Sam’s eye and they remained locked in an unfaltering trance. Dean wanted to look away from the moment and awkward silence, but to break the stare would break the bond and Dean would be back where he had started in the first place.

"You died," Sam whispered.

"What?" Dean was confused - was Sam still sleeping or was he finally losing his mind?

Sam blinked. He hadn’t pulled his hand away from Dean’s grasp yet. "When I woke up earlier tonight... I had dreamed you died."

Dean didn’t answer; he didn’t know how to or if it seemed right to say anything in the first place. Dean finally had the courage to look away, down to the floor where his discarded pendant lay. It shone in the moonlight, playing tricks in his eyes.

"I couldn’t live with you gone."

Dean’s eyes flickered for a moment to Sam, catching the genuine fear in his face before looking back to the pendant. His fingers began to ache from clenching and were slipping from the film of sweat forming between the two joined hands.

"I know." Dean didn’t want to be bias or conceded - but he knew, because it would be the same for him. He wasn’t sure how he had made it through those years Sam was gone; he depended on Sam, as much as Sam had depended on him in younger years.

"Do you remember the last time we did this? I asked you something." 

Dean didn’t look at Sam yet. He could see Sam was frowning through his eyelashes, but what if he looked at Sam’s face? Would he run away, would he see his mistakes in those demanding eyes? Sam could ask for so much without ever saying a word and that drove Dean over the edge; but that’s why he never stopped loving his brother no matter how self-indulged he got in his actions and thoughts.

"I asked you to tell me what Mom was like."

Dean could sense the knowing smirk on Sam’s face and he looked up - he expected the world to crash around him, fire and ashes flowing up like clouds in galaxies, as he looked into his brother’s eyes and could not stop the feelings that came over him. But nothing changed - the moon was still the only light outside their world, angels with burning eyes didn’t open up the earth and tear Sam and Dean apart once again - they would stay the same, the way they laid there that night.

"You _remembered_?" Dean whispered, an urge to laugh overcoming him.

"You _promised_ ," Sam pressed, his eyebrows furrowing.

Dean remembered that night of course - he was still running over that simple answer in his head, rewording and repeating until it sounded perfect. A little gift, wrapped with ribbons and bows, to hand to Sam - Dean knew it would mean the world and more for Sam to hear those words.

Pulling himself from the floor, Dean climbed onto the bed; he laid beside Sam, who rolled over to face him. They no longer needed the string to bind them - Dean let it drop from his fingers, where it fluttered to floor and was left, forgotten. They had found the true bond between themselves; the invisible unbreakable bond that Dean now realized that could never be frayed. The shoe lace had gave them their first stepping stone; Sam and Dean had taken the next step.

"You still wanna know what Mom was really like?" Dean whispered into Sam’s ear, wrapping his free arm around Sam’s waist. The touch no longer sent shivers through him, but made him feel complete. As cliche as it sounded in Dean’s head, Sam was his missing half.

"Yeah," Sam breathed out, his fingers tightening in Dean’s. 

Dean looked at Sam, their eyes locking. "She was kind of like you." 

Sam smiled into the kiss Dean laid on his lips, the taste of lost tears and something sweet Sam couldn’t pick out mingling to one. His heart finally let go of all the pain he had carried with him since everything fell apart and his new had started. He knew that this day was going to come, when they no longer needed his childhood string to bond them, but just a glance, a smile, an understanding and then they were one.

They were tied.

 


End file.
